The Heart's Beat
by James Crash
Summary: Riku learns the true power of love when he loses the person his heart beats for.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **The Heart's Beat

**Author: **James Crash

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Kingdom Hearts

**Author's Note: **Fanfiction #2! This is not a sequel to _On Cloud Nine_, but a separate story. Once again, I appreciate reviews and criticism. Also, if you enjoy my work, please read _The Ballerina _on fictionpress. It is an original piece. Happy Reading! I'm aware of the gaps in the story. All will be revealed in due time.

"Sweetie, wake up!"

It is a woman's voice that speaks to me. I can feel her hand on my shoulder as she shakes me lightly. I rub the sleep from my eyes as I open them slowly.

"Honey, visiting hours are over."

I have no idea how long I've been asleep in this chair. I silently berate myself for nodding off. Sora's parents asked me to keep an eye on him. They needed a few hours rest away from the hospital. I've failed, like so many other times in my life.

I look to the woman. She is one of Sora's nurses. I think her name is Aerith. Then again, I'm not sure. Sora has so many people taking care of him. Her eyes are soft and a deep shade of green. Her brunette hair is pulled back into a long, tight braid. She's beautiful in a fragile way.

"What are you staring at," Aerith asks me.

"You're not wearing any make-up," I grumble. My voice hasn't woken up yet.

She touches her cheek and averts her eyes. "My skin breaks out if I wear make-up."

_I'm such an asshole_, I think to myself. "No, I mean it looks good. You look nice without make-up. You don't need it."

"Well, thank you," she says. Her smile returns. "But, flattery will get you nowhere. Visiting hours are over."

I prop my elbows on my knees, and lean my head into my hands. I have a headache. "Can," I correct myself, "may I stay with Sora tonight? I won't be loud or anything."

Aerith sits on the edge of the hospital bed across from me. "Are you family?"

I look to Sora. I can barely see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. I'm terrified to leave him. "He's my better half," I say finally, still staring at the brunette boy. Tears dampen my face.

The bed creaks as Aerith stands. She kneels in front of me, and wipes the wet from my cheek. "If anyone asks, you are Sora's brother. Ok?" I nod my head in reply. "What's your name? I need to know for the overnight visitor's log."

"Riku," I reply softly.

Aerith stands up, dusting off her bluish-green scrubs. "Would you like a cup of coffee, Riku? I'm brewing a pot at the nurse's station."

"Thank you, I appreciate it." I cannot look away from Sora.

"Come by whenever you're ready," she says, shutting the door behind her.

It's not completely untrue, the lie about me being Sora's brother. We're not related by blood. No, he's my brother in spirit.

Sora wore many hats during our relationship: friend, lover, enemy, ally. But above all, he was my partner. I could always count on Sora to be there, even at two in the morning when my brain was running 300 mph. He would roll over in bed, brandish a disarming smile and ask, "What are you thinking about?" Then, I would vent every nuance plaguing my mind. Once I finished my rant, he'd say, "Feel better?" And, I did. Always.

Now, I sit in room 301 at the hospital waiting for Sora to die. I'm not morbid; I'm honest to a fault. If there was hope, I would be the first person to reach for it. According to three different doctors – two of them specialists – there's no chance for recovery.

I stand and drag the chair to Sora's bedside. His skin is pale and his lips are dry and chapped. I remember all the times I kissed those lips, and how soft they were. Another tear falls down my cheek, leaving a wet mark on my shorts. I take his hand in mine, while my other hand brushes through his hair.

He sleeps so peacefully, credit to the IVs in his arm. The doctors guarantee he will be kept as comfortable as possible. I hate it. I don't want him comfortable. I want him fighting for his life. I want to know the man I love is within this shell of a human. I want to see the fire burn in his sapphire eyes, and I want to hear him speak my name again. Despite these desires, I know this is a fool's dream.

My hand trails from Sora's hair to his cheek. The skin is damp with sweat. Recoiling, my hand rests upon his chest. I can feel his heartbeat. It is faint and delayed.

I remember the first time I heard Sora's heart. I was twenty years old. I sat on the bed in his room. Posters of action movies and video games decorated the pale blue walls. I shivered and pulled the gray comforter around my naked body. Sora and I agreed to make love for the first time that night. It was a Monday during Christmas break from school, and his parents were attending a party at the neighbors.

The lights were off, so I couldn't see Sora when he walked into the room. I heard the door click shut, and a significant amount of shuffling in the dark. "Are you alright?" I asked in response to a loud thud. Sora had fallen over trying to remove his pants.

A moment passed. "There is absolutely no way to get your pants off, and look sexy doing it," Sora answered from the floor.

We began to laugh loudly, relieving the tension. This was the moment I realized I loved him, and actually said it out loud. I sat on the floor in front of him, and helped him take off his jeans. I slipped my fingers through his hair. "I love you," I admitted.

He leaned over and kissed me. It was light and innocent. "I know," he smirked. I grabbed the back of his neck, and pulled him into a passionate embrace. We made love on his bedroom floor that night. What we lacked in experience we had in emotional honesty. I vowed to make every encounter between Sora and I as raw and open. I don't think I succeeded, but I tried. I really did, Sora.

I remember waking up the next morning still on the floor. I had fallen asleep on Sora's chest. I panicked. I had never felt so vulnerable. But, the slow rhythm of Sora's heart soothed my nerves. I fell asleep to the sound of his beating.

My hand begins to shake, and I feel a turbulent storm erupting inside me. I grip his thin hospital gown, and explode in heavy sobs. I lean my head against the bed rail for support, and let out a cry: sharp and painful. I squeeze Sora's hand, though I know he will never squeeze back. It doesn't matter. I find comfort in his touch, as cold as it is.

I turn rapidly when I hear the door open. My face is wet and distorted from weeping. Aerith stands in the doorway holding two Styrofoam cups.

"You never stopped by," she says kindly. Though she is smiling, her eyes are damp.

I nod my head. She hands me a cup and sits on the arm of my chair. As I bring the liquid to my lips, another storm wracks my body. I lose control of my hand, and the cup falls to the floor, splashing coffee across the tiles. "I'm sorry," I say between sobs. My voice is deep and hoarse. I stand quickly looking for a towel to clean my mess. But, I then lose control of my legs, and fall to the floor.

"Don't worry about it, honey. I will clean it later," Aerith says. She leans down next and helps me to my feet. I fall into her, and begin heaving loudly into her body. She wraps her arms around my back, and leans against the bed to hold my weight.

I feel her hands brushing through my silver hair. I realize that any other time, I would consider this highly inappropriate. My face is buried within her breasts. Yet, I find her warmth calming.

The storm passes. I lift my eyes to meet hers. "Thanks," I say.

She smiles. "I have to go check on the other patients. But, I'll be back, ok?"

I nod. She helps me into the chair. "He's very cute," she says patting my shoulder.

"Beautiful, actually," I respond. Aerith smiles and leaves the room. I pull the white blanket up to Sora's shoulders. I don't want him to be cold. "What am I going to do without you?" I ask him. Sora, of course, does not respond. It is an answer I'll never get.

I suddenly feel the repercussions of my emotional outburst. My body is heavy and my head is pounding from all the tears. I lower the railing on the bed, and lay my head on Sora's chest. I want to hear his heartbeat.


	2. Chapter 2

"Riku, honey, we're back."

I lift my head and see Sora's parents. They look exhausted. I doubt they slept after they left the hospital.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, kissing my cheek. Her voice is tender, but strained. I stand and offer her the chair.

"He's the same," I say. She sits and takes her son's hand.

Sora's father massages her shoulders. "Thanks for staying, buddy." I nod in reply. "Everything is going to be alright," he whispers quietly into his wife's ear.

Sora's mom is wearing a thin blouse and black yoga pants. Her brownish-red hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Sora's dad is unshaved and dons his signature baseball cap, blue jeans and white tee shirt. They haven't changed from this morning. I imagine I look a mess. Observing my paint stained cargo shorts, and musty black V-neck, I realize I've yet to brush my teeth today.

"Did the doctor stop by?" Sora's mom asks.

"No, but the nurse came to check on him a few times. Her name is Aerith. She's really nice," I explain.

"We'll have to be sure to thank her," she says to Sora's dad. He nods silently.

I consider Sora's parents to be my second family. My own fell apart. Dad cheated on my mom, and they separated when I was fifteen. I don't keep in contact with my father. After the divorce, my mom experienced severe, emotional mood swings. Our relationship finally deteriorated when she began to bring home a different man every night.

In high school, Sora's parents invited me over for dinner every weekend. Sora swore he never told them about my mom's promiscuity. It was obvious he did. It was more obvious they were trying to protect me.

"Riku, are you alright?" Sora's dad asks. His voice is deep, but not intimidating.

I must have zoned out. "Yeah, I'm fine, just tired is all," I say.

"Riku, go home and get some rest, honey. You've been at the hospital all day."

I look at Sora's mom. "I don't want to leave Sora."

"He won't be alone. We'll be here. I'll call if anything comes up," she urges.

I begin to argue, but I am struck by the look in her eyes. She is begging me to go. She needs time alone with her son. She needs time to say goodbye. So, I close my eyes and nod. I can feel the storm again.

"Thank you," she says, standing from the chair. We hug tightly. I smile weakly as we pull away.

"We'll call you," Sora's dad reassures. He embraces me. I can feel his large hands on my back, and the warmth of his body heat. He feels just like Sora. The storm begins to climb into my throat, and I push away before erupting again.

I move to Sora's bedside, and brush the bangs from his forehead. "I'll be back soon," I whisper in his ear. I leave the room, and shut the door softly behind me.

The clock on the microwave reads 4:42 AM. It is nearly twenty-four hours since Sora collapsed. I drop my keys on the kitchen counter, and open the fridge behind me. I have not eaten since yesterday. Beer, a bottle of Chardonnay, peanut butter, and leftover Chinese are my options. I grab the peanut butter and retrieve a loaf of white bread from the cabinet to my right. Spreading the peanut butter on the bread, I am careful each slice has the same amount. Placing them together, I cut off the crusts. This is how Sora ate his sandwiches.

Sora would eat anything, really. I've seen him eat food right off the floor. His mom used to say we were "two-peas-in-a-pod." Sora loved to eat, and I love to cook. I work mornings at a diner down the road, so I am home most of the afternoon. Sora, however, had graduate classes four nights a week. I'd time dinner so when he'd walk in the door, it was just about ready. Sora would come home, wrap his arms around my waist, kiss the nape of my neck, and whisper, "It smells great."

The other night, though, Sora came home and I wasn't in the kitchen. Instead, I was reading in our bedroom.

"Riku?" he called, dropping his backpack in the middle of the floor.

"In here," I answered flatly.

"When is dinner? I'm starving," Sora said from the doorway.

I was infuriated by his question. "I'm not your damn wife."

As he sat on the edge of our bed, Sora asked, "Do you want me to make dinner tonight?"

"That's not the point," I snapped.

It was rare for Sora and I to fight, mostly because Sora is fiercely unaggressive. So, he ordered Chinese, and we ate in silence. That night, we both went to bed angry. Actually, I was angry. Sora felt guilty.

Sora had no expectations, and I know he appreciated every meal I made. A fact proven when I woke up the next morning, and he brought me breakfast in bed.

Sora wasn't the cause of my anger. Earlier that morning, a coworker made some dick remark about my sexual preference. I usually let those comments slide. It is a skill I've learned from years of torture. Yet, that day his words stayed with me, and festered all afternoon. So, I directed my frustrations on the easiest target: Sora. And, I never told him the truth.


End file.
